Job Hunt. By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

I place a long line of small metal hair clips across the floor

and stand at the end of the hall behind them.

Look how long the unemployment line has gotten,

I say, all these unused hair clips and me.

She sits up on the couch

tells me I am weird and very lucky to have found

a woman such as her.

Look, I even made up a resume for when the line thins out.

Let me see that, she snags it out of my hand.

You were never the King of India for two years.

Yes I was, and I listed you as a personal reference,

so talk me up when they call.

She laughs when she gets to the section on skills:

chewing with mouth closed, provider of orgasms,

speaks 1700 languages including: cat,

able to fly, read minds, computer literate

etc.

She hands the resume back to me

and walks back to the couch after

noting all my previous experience:

roofer

King of India for 2 years (as previously mentioned)

parking enforcement on Venus

Anne Frank’s body double

sous chef to Jeffery Dahmer

inventor of the autobahn

Spanish inquisitor in a past life

desert cactus stand in for eight prickly months in Tucson

prison house snitch for the warden

metallurgy apprentice

Vatican underwear model

etc.

Do not be so quick to critique.

Everyone exaggerates on their resume.

And judging by the size of the line in front of me,

I just hoped it was enough.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.